The Reunion at the Farm Awakened the Forbidden

The taxi stopped in front of the gate of El Encinar, kicking up a cloud of golden dust that took a while to settle. Mateo got out first, backpack over one shoulder and that city-boy face that never quite knows where to put its feet when it steps onto dirt. He had not been back for months, since he and his sister finished college and each got tangled up in their own life away from the village.

Lucía got out after him, smoothing her white dress with both hands. At twenty-five, she still had the nervous manner she’d had as a little girl, her big eyes taking in everything as if it were the first time, even though she had spent every summer of her childhood there.

The last to get out was Sofía. She paid the driver with a smile that lasted a second too long, slung her bag over her shoulder, and hopped down onto the gravel like someone landing on her favorite ground. The older cousin. The one who always knew how things would end before they even started.

At the house door the three of them were already being waited for, and a huge cinnamon-colored dog named Sultán was circling around, barking with pure joy.

Grandfather Rodolfo was the first to step forward, arms open and that broad smile that seemed never to have aged a day.

—My children! —he boomed, and went straight to hug Sofía as soon as he had her within reach.

Sofía let out a laugh and hugged him back hard, pressing her cheek against the old man’s broad chest.

—Grandpa, you’re still strong as ever, huh? —she said in that same playful tone as always.

Rodolfo squeezed her a little more than politeness called for, and when he let her go, his big hand slid down Sofía’s back and paused for just an instant on the curve of her ass, a brief, almost absent-minded brush, squeezing the firm flesh over her dress. The two of them smiled at the same time, as if they were sharing an old joke no one else understood. Sultán took the opportunity to shove his snout between Sofía’s legs, sniffing happily.

—Sultán, you beast! Stop, you’re tickling me —she laughed, pushing him away affectionately.

Lucía had stayed one step back, biting her lip. Aunt Carmen came over slowly, with that catlike elegance of hers, and wrapped her in a soft hug that lasted longer than usual. She ran a hand over Lucía’s waist, squeezed it, brushed her tits as she pulled back for just an instant and hugged her again.

—Oh, my girl, look at you, how pretty you are —she whispered in her ear, stroking her back from top to bottom until her fingertips stopped right above her ass.

When she let go, Carmen left a kiss very close to the corner of Lucía’s lips, almost brushing them, and Lucía blushed to the roots of her hair and fixed her eyes on the ground.

—Tha... thank you, Auntie —she stammered, not knowing where to look.

Mateo, watching the scene with his hands buried in his pockets, then went over to Grandma Amalia. She opened her arms with her usual warmth.

—Come here, darling —she said, and hugged him the way only she knew how: tight, long, smelling of soap and dried flowers.

Mateo put his arms around her waist, stiff at first, and felt how his grandmother’s body —still firm, still warm beneath the cotton dress— pressed against his. Without his being able to do anything to stop it, something woke below, fast and far too obvious: his cock sprang up pressed against the old woman’s thigh, hard, outlined against the fabric of his pants. He tried to turn his hips to hide it, but Amalia noticed. She noticed everything. Instead of pulling away, she held him for a second longer, pressed her hip against that bulge, and kissed him on the cheek, very near the ear.

—How you’ve grown, my boy —she murmured just for him, in a low voice with a hint of amusement that made Mateo’s neck prickle.

He pulled away red to the ears, mumbling an almost inaudible “hi, Grandma.”

Grandfather Rodolfo, now free, went to Lucía and lifted her off the ground in a bear hug.

—My Lucía! —he said, giving her half a turn in the air before setting her back down on the gravel.

His hands lingered a moment too long at her waist, sliding just to the start of her hips and brushing her buttocks beneath the dress. Lucía gave a nervous little laugh, not quite able to decide whether that was normal or not.

Carmen, for her part, received Mateo with the same slow, perfumed hug, pressing her big tits against her nephew’s chest.

—Hi, handsome —she said, grazing the nape of his neck with her red-painted nails and dropping one hand to squeeze his ass over his pants.

Mateo swallowed, his aunt’s sculpted body glued to his, and could only manage a half-smothered “hi, Auntie.”

Lastly, Amalia hugged Sofía. The two of them melted into the greeting of people who have known each other all their lives: cheeks together, hands on backs, low laughter.

—And you, my queen, getting more dangerous every year —said Grandma, stroking her hair.

Sofía winked.

—You’re no slouch either, Grandma. What a summer we’ve got ahead of us.

The greetings ended with laughter, the occasional kiss too many, and Sultán spinning around like crazy. No one said anything strange. No one crossed any line. But they all felt the strange heat that remained hanging in the afternoon air, thick as the dust on the road. The twins glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, a little dazed. Sofía, meanwhile, was smiling like someone who has already read the ending of the book.

***

Dinner was long and washed down with red wine from the estate’s own cellar. Grandfather told the same stories as always, Aunt Carmen refilled the glasses more times than necessary, and Grandma Amalia, seated directly across from Mateo, watched him throughout the whole evening with a calm he found impossible to endure. Every time their eyes met, she took a beat too long to look away, and on one of those occasions Mateo felt the tip of the old woman’s bare foot slide up his calf under the table and come to rest at his crotch, slowly pressing the cock that was already bulging in his pants.

Lucía hardly spoke. She had Aunt Carmen beside her, and at some point between the main course and dessert Mateo realized that his aunt’s hand had disappeared beneath the tablecloth and that his sister had gone very still, her breathing shallow, her cheeks flushed. Beneath the dress, Carmen’s fingers had pulled her panties aside and were working into her cunt slowly, two fingers sliding in and out while her thumb rubbed her clit. Lucía gripped her fork with white knuckles, biting her lip so she wouldn’t moan at the table. No one commented on anything. Sofía chewed calmly, amused, as if all of it were part of a script only she knew by heart.

—Early to bed —said Grandfather as he stood up—. Tomorrow there’s a lot of land to show you.

The rooms were upstairs, arranged along a wooden hallway that creaked with every step. Mateo lay down but couldn’t get to sleep. The whole house seemed to breathe around him: the wind in the poplars, the crickets, the floor settling. And beneath all of that, his grandmother’s voice repeating in his head. How you’ve grown, my boy. He jerked off slowly beneath the sheet, thinking of the old woman’s tits pressed against his chest, and still he couldn’t come; the knot in his stomach was too big.

At one in the morning he went barefoot down to the kitchen, looking for a glass of water that would serve as an excuse for something he didn’t know how to name.

The extractor light was on. And there she was.

Amalia, standing by the counter, with a thin robe tied loosely at the waist and her hair loose over her shoulders. She did not seem surprised to see him. She seemed, rather, to have been expecting him.

—I knew you’d come down —she said, without moving from where she was.

Mateo stood frozen in the doorway, his heart pounding in his throat.

—I couldn’t sleep —he muttered.

—I know. —Amalia held out a glass of water she had already prepared, as if she’d been counting the minutes—. Here. And stop looking at the floor; I didn’t raise you to go around with your head down.

He looked up. The robe had opened a little at the neckline, and his grandmother’s skin, goldened by years of sun and labor, rose and fell slowly with each breath. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath: the dark nipples showed through the thin fabric. Mateo took a long gulp just to have something to do with his hands.

—This afternoon, in the hug —she began, taking a step closer—. You have no reason to be ashamed. You’re a man. It happens.

—Grandma, I… —The sentence died halfway.

Amalia laid her open palm on his chest. She didn’t push him. She left it there, feeling how the boy’s pulse sped up beneath her hand. Then her hand drifted down, unhurriedly, over his stomach, and stopped right above the bulge that was showing again in his pajama pants.

—It’s been throbbing like that since you got here —she said, and there was something new in her voice, rougher, lower—. And this too. You think I didn’t notice? We all notice everything here, Mateo. It’s the only rule in this house.

She squeezed his cock over the fabric with her open hand, measuring it. Mateo let out a low gasp. The old woman smiled without looking away from his eyes and slipped her fingers beneath the waistband. When her calloused hand closed directly around his shaft, the boy bent slightly forward, clenching his teeth.

—Look at it —she murmured, pulling it out of his pajama bottoms—. What a cock you’ve grown, my boy.

She stroked it slowly, wrist turned, squeezing hard at the base and easing up over the head. Mateo couldn’t breathe. Amalia came closer until there was barely any air left between them. He could smell soap, wine, something hotter beneath. When the old woman stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his, it was a testing brush, slow, more a question than a kiss. Mateo took what felt like half an eternity to respond. Then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her for real, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, and felt his grandmother’s body soften against his as if it had been waiting for exactly that all her life.

The glass was left forgotten on the counter. His hands, clumsy at first, found her waist beneath the robe; hers, expert, guided him without haste, teaching him the rhythm, slowing him down whenever he got too worked up. She tugged at the knot and the robe fell open completely. Underneath she was entirely naked: breasts heavy with age but still full, with very dark nipples already hard; a soft belly crossed by old birth marks; a patch of gray hair between her thighs.

—Slowly —Amalia whispered against his mouth—. Summers are long here. There’s no hurry.

The robe gave way and slid down to the tiled floor. Mateo stopped thinking. He stopped thinking about what was right and what was wrong, about the hallway creaking above their heads, about his sister on the other side of a wall, about the cousin smiling as if she had written all of it. There was only his grandmother’s skin beneath his hands and the yellow light of the extractor outlining them in the middle of the night.

He grabbed her tits with both hands, weighing them, squeezing them, lowering his head to suck one nipple. Amalia drove her fingers into his hair and pushed him against her chest.

—That’s it, my boy. Suck them well —she panted—. Hungry.

Mateo sucked like he was thirsty, moving from one nipple to the other, biting lightly, and the old woman yanked his T-shirt off over his head. She pulled his pants down in one motion to his knees and the boy’s cock sprang out hard, throbbing against his grandmother’s belly. She looked him over proudly and simply dropped to her knees. She knelt on the cold tiles and ran her tongue from the base of his balls to the tip of the head, very slowly, looking up at him from below.

—Grandma… —he moaned.

—Shut up and enjoy it —she answered, her mouth already full.

Amalia took him all the way in, to the back of her throat, and started sucking him with a technique that left no doubt about how many cocks she had taken in her life. She took hold of his balls with one hand and with the other squeezed his ass, burying the head against her palate, pulling it out with a wet sound, spitting saliva over it and taking it back in again. Mateo clung to the edge of the counter so he wouldn’t fall. The old woman moved her head up and down in a slow, heavy rhythm, never taking her eyes off him.

—Don’t you come yet —she warned him, taking him out of her mouth for a second—. This hasn’t even started.

She stood up, kissed him again —he could taste himself on his grandmother’s tongue— and laid him out on the wooden table where they had eaten hours before. She climbed on top with an agility that denied any notion Mateo might have had about age, straddled him, and ran her soaked cunt along the full length of his cock, rubbing her clit against the head.

—My boy —she repeated, and this time the word sounded like something entirely different.

She took his shaft in her hand, centered it at her entrance, and slowly lowered herself, sitting all the way down in one long motion. The grandmother let out a rough moan when her grandson’s cock hit the deepest part of her. Mateo clenched his teeth: the old woman’s cunt was hot and tight, milking him with walls that closed in waves.

—Fuck… —he panted—. Grandma, you’re so tight…

—Farm work, my life —she answered, laughing, and started moving.

They moved together in the dimness, unhurried, the old creak of wood marking its own tempo. Amalia rode him up and down, her tits bouncing over Mateo’s face, and then leaned forward and made circles with her hips, mounting him as if she were taming him. She took his hands and placed them on her ass, guiding him to spread her and squeeze her again with every thrust. When the boy grew tired and wanted more, the old woman let herself be turned: she ended up lying on her back on the table, legs spread wide and heels braced on her grandson’s shoulders.

—Fuck me now, do me the favor —she told him, tugging his hair—. Like you fuck a woman. Without fear.

Mateo drove into her all the way and started moving hard, the table banging against the wall with each thrust. Grandmother buried her nails in his back and bit his neck so she wouldn’t scream, her mouth open against his skin. She whispered filthy things to him in sticky, breathy tones —“that’s it, my boy, tear my cunt apart, give me everything”— and the boy fucked her faster and faster, sweat dripping down his forehead. He buried his face in his grandmother’s neck so he wouldn’t make noise, and she bit his shoulder for the same reason.

—I’m about to come —he panted into her ear.

—Inside —the old woman answered, squeezing his ass with her heels—. Spill it all inside, no one’s filled this granny in years.

Mateo emptied himself inside her with three long thrusts, grunting, his cock throbbing with every spurt. Amalia came beneath him biting her fist, arched, her cunt milking every last drop of semen. When it was all over, they stayed still for a long while, catching their breath, the sweat cooling in the country night. A white thread slid from the old woman’s thigh to the edge of the table.

Amalia sat up, ran two fingers through her slit, brought them to her mouth, and licked them slowly. Then she picked up the robe from the floor and tied it with complete calm, as if she had just washed the dishes.

—Go on, off to bed —she said, giving him a kiss on the forehead—. And drink water; tomorrow there’s sun.

Mateo went up the stairs floating, his heart still wild. At the top of the hallway, a half-open door let out a strip of faint light and a murmur of muffled laughter: his sister’s voice moaning very softly and, beneath it, Aunt Carmen’s whispering filthy things in her ear while something wet made a rhythmic sound. Beyond that, another door, another heavy breath, the squeak of an old bed spring.

He got into bed staring at the ceiling, feeling different, awake in a new way. In the morning he would run into everyone in the kitchen, they would pour coffee, talk about the weather and country things as if nothing had happened. That was the rule. That was the estate.

Before closing his eyes, he thought of what Sofía had said when she got out of the taxi, with that smile of someone who already knows the ending.

What a summer we’ve got ahead of us.

And the week, Mateo remembered, had only just begun.